


Study War No More

by PrairieDawn



Series: Welcome to 1951 [13]
Category: MASH (TV), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Klingons, M/M, Organians, Rape Mention (indirect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: The Organians have stopped House Arok from destroying Earthtoo, but the planet remains in Klingon space, and they have taken hostages.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt/Peg Hunnicutt, James T. Kirk/Spock, Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Series: Welcome to 1951 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1033128
Comments: 138
Kudos: 101





	1. In which Peg finally runs out of rope

**Author's Note:**

> big thank you to Fish, who came up with Eleanor Roosevelt.

Gesh was, at heart, a comm officer. He knew the intricacies of code, the ripples and layers of subspace, and the subtle delineations of language required to project strength and honor while not attracting swift retaliation from enemies and rivals. He also knew the lack of honor when he saw it, and Wakod had lost his respect when he began burning the human cities. The response robbed the humans of the opportunity to defend themselves, destroyed the resource they wished to gain and was typical of the new Klingon style of conquest since the Federation's war. It disgusted him.

He knew that his next actions would mean his death, probably sooner rather than later, but he keyed the private channel open anyway--B'Sei would be expecting poetry, he was sure, but this bit of intelligence would cement her position with her own commander, and would therefore be a welcome gift. He hoped.

With good fortune, B'Sei would receive his message detailing what his own House had done and return to the duplicate Earth to administrate it in a manner that would benefit the entire Empire. The likelihood that it would also likely hasten the extermination of his House was a price his personal honor demanded he pay. 

*

Leonard crouched over BJ Hunnicutt, medscanner whirring in his hand. "Damn Klingons. Take their weapons and they can still break a man into more pieces than I can fix."

Spock crouched awkwardly over BJ, using his hands and forearms to stabilize BJ's spine. "Will he survive?" 

Leonard muttered, "If I have anything to say about it, yes. Just don't let him move his head until I repair this hairline fracture of the axis." He maneuvered the osteoregenerator into position, glad that they had left the 4077th with all of his devices fully charged and he hadn't needed to use them too much since. "You, my friend, are too accident prone for your own good," he told BJ, still cataloging injuries from the top down. "Concussion with no major bleeds--he ought to recover from that on his own, provided he doesn't take another hit. Broken collar bone on the same side as the injured wrist. Coupla cracked ribs. No organ damage, small favors, and the lower limbs look good." He looked up at Spock, whose head was bowed over BJ's. "How are you?"

Spock eventually said, "Undamaged, but preoccupied at present, Doctor. Hunnicutt is regaining consciousness."

"Like hell he is. Keep him down and keep him still. Three more minutes should be enough."

Spock fell silent. Leonard held the osteoregenerator steady with his right hand and swept the medscanner over Spock with the left. It looked like he wasn't lying about his state of health, for a change. Still, at minimum they'd be here until Enterprise returned, and at worst, they could be prisoners for a lot longer. And even if the Organians' prohibition against violence between the Empire and Federation did prevent them from being harmed directly, Klingons were plenty creative and Leonard was sure they'd find some way to make their stay unpleasant, possibly even fatally so.

The vibration reaching his knees from the deck plates changed pitch abruptly, and his stomach did the little flip that told him the ship was going to warp. Leonard swore quietly. Two days. If this ship didn't plan to stay put, they could be on Qo'nos by then. He moved the osteoregenerator to BJ's collarbone. If the Klingons figured out they didn't have Kirk, they were going to be pissed, and dangerously so.

*

Peg crawled toward wakefulness against a blinding headache. She had a monster crick in her neck from the couch, maybe a little more than just a crick, she realized when turning over sent a spasm from her right shoulder down her arm. Erin! She bolted upright on the couch. She'd been screaming, everyone staring at her, demanding Peg make her be quiet, and then the alien, Spock, he'd taken her and she'd gone still so _fast_. Her breath came faster and faster and her vision tunneled. The couch cushion's rough tweed in her fists was the only thing anchoring her to the room.

"Peg, listen to me. They're gone. Erin's fine." It took her a minute to register the voice, the warmth of a body sitting beside her, the hesitant pressure of a hand on her shoulder. 

She choked on her sobs and buried her face in her arms. "I was going to do it. I could have done it, I had to. She'll never forgive me." She couldn't stop the flood of words and tears, her face was sopping and stinging, her nose was running and still the man beside her sat quietly, neither wrapping arms around her, which might have broken her, nor walking away, which she was sure would have made her fly apart.

"Where is she?" she finally managed to ask, and then, looking into the face of the time traveling space captain. "What did he do to her?"

"Erin's in the guest room with Ed and Edna," Kirk said and waited until she nodded understanding. "He just helped her go to sleep. Mrs. O'Reilly's giving her a bottle."

Why was Kirk here and not BJ? "Where's BJ?" she asked, suddenly suspicious. Kirk's shoulders dropped a little. "BJ's with Spock and Bones. The Klingons took them when they left."

She was suddenly freezing cold. She clutched at Kirk's arms and he pulled her into a hug, tight enough to keep her from shattering. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, finally pulling away. "And me a married woman."

He laughed once, harshly. "And me a married man."

She sniffled. Married? And trapped here, so far from wherever he called home for how long? "How long has it been since you last saw your wife?"

"Husband. And about three hours."

"Who?" One of the two men he'd traveled with. She thought back over their interactions over the past few days. McCoy was with--was it Margaret? Someone BJ knew. "Spock? I thought you were just close friends, maybe close like," she paused, words momentarily failing her.

"Like Hawkeye and BJ?"

She stared at him a moment longer, judging the safety of honesty, then swallowed and nodded. "So our husbands are both up there, together, with Dr. McCoy on one of those ships."

"Yes."

"Full of aliens who think nothing of murdering millions of people."

"Yes." He blew out a breath, then spent a moment staring at nothing, lost in thought. "They're high value prisoners. The Klingons are probably hoping to get information from them. Or use them as bargaining chips."

"But why BJ?"

"Because he pretended to be me. I guess he thought his life was less important than mine. I wish he hadn't done it."

She sniffled. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I do too." She started to stand and he stood with her to help her up. They overbalanced and caught hold of each other awkwardly. "I want to see my baby." She disengaged herself and tiptoed to the guest room, only then noticing that she was in clean, dry clothes. Edna must have changed them when she'd--fainted?

Ed lay on the cot, asleep, with Edna perched on a chair beside him, holding Erin. She swallowed and tiptoed away, suddenly unsure whether she could bring herself to hold her. Would she ever feel safe with her again? Kirk had moved to the kitchen table. He gestured to the seat across from him. A steaming cup of coffee and a couple of slices of yesterday's bread with butter and jam were waiting for her. She wasn't hungry.

"Edna put me in these clothes?" she asked.

"Yeah. Once things calmed down. The Klingons all beamed back to their ships."

"All of them?"

He nodded. "There's an address on the television at eleven. President Truman. We ought to watch it."

She slid into the seat and stared into the reflections in the coffee mug. "He took Erin from me and she just stopped. Like he'd turned her off." She toyed with the butter knife. "I thought he broke her neck."

"I promise he didn't do anything I haven't let him do for me many times. He would never harm a child." He took a swig of coffee. "How's the shoulder?"

"I think I slept on it wrong." She stretched again. working out a twinge.

"When we get Bones back, have him take a look at it." He looked like he was about to say something else and changed his mind.

The emptiness of the house finally registered. "Where is everyone else?"

"Marshall got a call about a half hour after the Klingons left. He and Dyers took one of the cars. Once the Klingon's weapons stopped working, a bunch of us tried to overpower them. Woolley was killed. Marshall and Dyers walked the perimeter. No sign of the rest of the men, but with disrupters there might not be."

The floorboards creaked under the rug behind Peg. Edna crossed into the kitchen with a milk drunk Erin in her arms. "Oh good, you're awake. I think somebody misses her mama." Peg curved her shoulder away from the two of them almost before she realized it. 

"Peg?" Edna said.

"I can't. I'm sorry, not right now."

Edna nodded grimly. "Captain, would you take her? I need to see if I can get Ed to wake up and take some broth."

Kirk reached out to take Erin, settling her in one arm. She ran her fingers over the buttons on his uniform jacket. "How is he doing?" Kirk asked.

"Resting. His color's a bit better. Doctor in town says he'll try to come by and see him this afternoon. If it's his heart there's not much else we can do but wait and watch."

Peg wasn't up to another presidential speech. She was having a hard time just trying to figure out what all had happened at the farmhouse while she'd been conveniently out cold on the couch. And about that--"Did your alien hus--" a glance at Edna and, even in her righteous indignation, she had the sense to catch herself. "I didn't just faint, did I?"

Kirk shook his head. He took a seat in front of the television, still cradling Erin. Edna fiddled with the antenna until the American flag filled the screen. It waved accompanied by the national anthem for a few minutes, then was replaced by the face of President Truman. "My fellow Americans," Truman began. "Roughly four hours ago, several related events occurred which have profound consequences for our nation and our world. First, the Klingon invaders' weapons ceased to function at 8:15 Eastern Time this morning. Within the hour, all hostile aliens had vanished from Earth, presumably to return to their ships. There have been no further strikes on our cities in this time despite some unfortunate incidents of retaliation against Klingons left behind. Blair House is now under American control and I will be officially resuming my office as soon as I have a chance to confer with the Vice President."

He paused. "Since this morning, no object has been successfully used as a weapon on Earth. Our scientists are attempting to determine the extent of this prohibition and if and when it might be lifted, but at this time, we have few answers. For now, our greatest concern is aiding those who have suffered most. Cities around the world have been laid waste. In the United States, much of New York City and Newark, New Jersey, San Francisco in California, and Chicago, Illinois are total losses. Volunteer rescue and recovery efforts are underway. If you can help, please contact your local Red Cross for further instructions. Medical professionals of all types, firefighters, specialists in construction and demolitions, and blood donors are all desperately needed."

"Finally, events of these last few days have impressed upon us how small the world really is and how deeply we need each other. The nations of the world continue to have differences and disagreements, but it is incumbent upon us to set aside those differences in these unprecedented times to work together for the security of all. We will overcome this tragedy and emerge stronger in the end. Bless you all."

A newsman Peg didn't recognize took the President's place, his voice a drone she couldn't hang a thought on. Erin was all right, so far as she could see, but she couldn't look at her without getting the shakes. BJ was missing, trapped on a ship with an alien army in retreat. She was alone among strangers or near enough to strangers, kind as Edna and the captain were, and she wanted nothing more than to go home.

Wherever that was.

*

They were two days out from what was informally being dubbed Earthtoo, with the Organians' word that the Klingons had been prevented from further damaging the planet. Una needed strategy, she needed backup, and she absolutely did not need the Admiralty breathing down her neck for her side trip to Organia with a quartet of time displaced humans. 

Much as she hated to admit it, she was going to need to call in a big favor. She sat at her desk and flipped on her vidcom. "Open level three secure link, authorization Una one-one-oh-three-Delta."

"Channel secure."

"Get me Ambassador Sarek."

She spent over an hour being bounced from gatekeeper to gatekeeper, long enough that she tapped her datapad to life to catch up on paperwork between firm conversations with various humorless Vulcans. Finally, the severe face of the ambassador appeared on her screen. "Captain Una, may I assume you have word of my son?"

"Ambassador. Thank you for speaking with me on short notice. First things first. We have a lead on Kirk, Spock, and Dr. McCoy. They are known to have been on the recently displaced Earth as of three days ago. Unfortunately, Spock and Leonard McCoy have been taken prisoner by the Klingons."

"I am gratified to hear that the doctor lives as well as my son and his mate," Sarek said. "It is unfortunate that they have fallen into enemy hands."

"Klingon house Arok decided to make a play for the planet and was using weapons of mass destruction to ensure cooperation. We went to Organia to plead their case before we were able to retrieve our people."

"I see. With what result?"

Una tapped the table out of sight of the Ambassador, not wanting to betray a nervous habit. "The Organians have prevented all weapons use on and near the planet indefinitely."

"Effective, if potentially destabilizing to the planet in question."

She nodded agreement. "Ambassador, as of our last contact with Commander Spock, there had been sixteen one kilogram photon torpedo strikes on cities. They're looking at a multiyear nuclear autumn unless we can repair or compensate for the damage to the atmosphere."

"This Earth--what is its level of advancement?"

"It is a precise duplicate of Earth, local date May 13, 1951 Old Earth dating system. Current population is about two and a half billion."

"Then they are over one hundred years from developing a warp drive."

Una nodded agreement. "And there is no way they will avoid interference in their location. If they do not become a client world of the Federation, they will become subjects of the Klingon Empire."

"If I am not mistaken, the Klingons have the stronger claim."

Una pressed her point. "Which is why we need you help us broker a deal. Something that benefits both the Federation and the Klingon Empire and protects this planet and its people. The Organians told us that we're destined to become friends with the Klingons eventually. Maybe this is part of how that happens."

Sarek raised a dubious eyebrow. "It is indeed an unprecedented opportunity to forward the cause of peace between our peoples, if the Klingons can be persuaded of the same. I will speak to the council on this matter, though I can make no guarantees."

"Understood, Ambassador, and thank you. We have very limited communication with Commander Spock. I will keep you updated as to his status."

"As I will keep you informed of the progress of my petition to the Federation Council. I must begin making preparations immediately. My wife sends her gratitude." He cut the connection with typical Vulcan abruptness.

His wife indeed. 


	2. In which the author doubles down on the Morse code thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Klingons make a run for it with their hostages while Enterprise hurries back from Organia.

The manila envelope in Sherman Potter's hand flapped in the late morning breeze. He'd spent the last half hour looking all over camp for Dr. Freedman, who tended to float from task to task, from counseling to serving meals. Finally, he spotted the mop of dark curls at the center of a group of elderly refugees. Potter waved, and the psychiatrist folded his hands to bow to the nearest elders, then loped over to his side. His forehead wrinkled. "You look like you've just gotten bad news."

"I just got the preliminary damage maps from aerial recon." He handed Sidney the envelope. "New York City's in there." The map wouldn't contain anything Sidney didn't in essence already know, but hope is a hard thing to kill, and Potter looked at the map before bringing it to Sidney. There was precious little room for hope there.

Sidney swallowed, nodded, and took the envelope. He walked a few steps further from the group of refugees. Potter followed him to stand at his shoulder while he unwound the string and opened the flap, then pulled out the map of the New York metropolitan area. Concentric rings with irregular borders had been marked on it, the legend at the bottom marking the extent of the blast and ensuing firestorm. Sidney froze, his eyes searching the page, then crumpled to the ground, an inhuman keening coming from his throat. The sound broke up into loud sobbing as Potter went to his knees beside the man, then into screams that sliced into Potter like knives. He pulled Sidney into his arms.

He could hear soft footsteps approaching on the dusty ground. A man who looked old enough to be Potter's father sat down on Sidney's other side. Two women approached from behind to kneel at their backs, small wrinkled hands reaching out to rest on his back. The cluster of old people gradually relocated to encircle Sidney and himself, reaching out to touch, murmuring words in Japanese that coalesced into a sung lament. Someone took one of the blankets Sidney had been distributing and tucked it around his shoulders.

He wasn't sure Sidney even knew they were there.

*

The car rolling up the O'Reilly's gravel drive was black, shiny, and a little ostentatious. Two men emerged from the back in pristine dress whites, one with a rear admiral's stars and bars and the other wearing the oak leaf of a Navy surgeon. They walked unperturbed through the gauntlet of chickens to ring the doorbell and tucked their hats under their arms. Edna opened the door for them and they greeted her politely, but it was clear they were looking for someone else. "Is Captain Kirk here?" they asked, peering around her to his spot on the couch by the front window.

They started at the sight of him dandling a baby on his lap. He stood, tucking Erin into the crook of his arm to shake their hands. "Captain Jim Kirk, at your service, Admiral. I hope you'll pardon my ignorance of protocol."

The admiral waved away his apology, smiling. He had the glassy eyed look of someone who hadn't gotten a lot of sleep recently either. "Perfectly understandable. I'm certain much has changed in, what is it, three hundred twenty years? And you've spent all your time here associating with ground pounders."

"Some of the best people I've served with, Admiral Burke," he replied, reading the name on the breast of his uniform.

"So I hear. We're relocating you to Washington to meet with POTUS and the surviving Joint Chiefs." He paused, his face becoming more serious. "I was very sorry to hear about your colleagues. I wish there was something we could do to help recover them."

"I appreciate your concern. Enterprise should be back from Organia late tomorrow to help, and as long as I know they're alive, I have hope."

The doctor interrupted with an apologetic smile. "Captain, I have been asked to assess how well you are recovering from your injuries."

"Certainly, Doctor. Mrs. O'Reilly, would you mind?" Edna collected Erin and retreated to the guest room. "I don't like leaving them alone right now. Ed McMann had what looks like a heart attack and Mrs. Hunnicutt isn't taking her husband's capture well." He stripped off his jacket and shirt a little stiffly, still feeling the effects of yesterday's altercation with the Klingons. 

The physician made a disapproving noise. "I don't like the look of these bruises. We should get another chest X-ray when we get to Washington. For now, I'd like to bind your chest to keep anything from moving around."

Jim didn't bother arguing. A yeoman poked his head in the door. "Does the captain have any personal effects for me to collect?"

"My things are in the guest room at the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. O'Reilly can help you sort them out. Would you tell her I'd like to take Spock and Bones--Dr. McCoy's personal effects as well?"

The yeoman nodded understanding and disappeared into the guest room. The physician finished prodding him and noted, "I hope to have a chance to meet this Doctor McCoy. If only to ask him what his chart notes mean. He's got a unique style."

"I hope you get that chance," Jim agreed wearily. "Would you mind looking in on Ed?"

"Not at all." He too, knocked, paused, and vanished into the guest room.

Admiral Burke perched on the arm of the couch. "I came out here so we could discuss the current situation on our way back to DC."

Jim nodded, slipping seamlessly back into military discipline. "I understand. Are there any Klingons that we know of left on the planet?"

"There are nine in US custody, and five of those are deceased. Most of them disappeared within, say, thirty minutes of the weapons interdiction, and the majority of the remainder weren't brought into custody before they were overwhelmed by mobs."

"I hate to say it, but that's understandable under the circumstances." There had to be a tsunami of grief and anger building all over this Earth after all that had happened--a tsunami with very few places to spend itself.

"Do these Klingons do prisoner exchanges?" Burke asked.

"That depends. You have them on suicide watch, I hope? They're very much a 'come back with your shield or on it' honor culture," Jim explained.

"Noted, and yes, at least the four we have. We're hoping to leverage the return of your people and ours. They managed to use those matter transporter devices to spirit away the British Prime Minister and several members of the royal family, along with some officials at the White House."

"What do things look like on the ground?"

"We lost a total of sixteen cities, spread across North America, Europe, Asia, and South America. There were several mass killings in response to nonviolent protests as well, but the numbers pale before the losses from the orbital strikes. Preliminary conservative estimates are looking at forty to fifty-five million lives lost. And with what looks like an outside power taking our chance to strike back, people are angry and they may not differentiate between your people and the Organians."

"And unfortunately an angry mob can do plenty of damage with just fists and feet."

"That they can."

The physician and yeoman emerged from the guest room, the yeoman laden with three duffel bags. He slipped out the door. The physician stopped to report, "Mr. McMann could benefit from oxygen therapy. I've called for a corpsman to come by with a setup as soon as one can be spared. Mrs. O'Reilly says that a neighbor will be coming by to help with her brother and the baby."

Jim hauled himself to his feet and took his own turn looking into the guest room. "I've got orders to report to Washington, DC."

Edna collected Erin from his arms. "I'll tell Peg. She's sleeping."

Still? Bones would probably argue that she was avoiding being awake. "I'll let you know as soon as Enterprise gets back with Walter."

"That would be kind of you," she said. "You come back and visit anytime."

"I will." He followed the officers out the door of the O'Reilly farmhouse, settled the Navy cap onto his head, and allowed himself to be driven away.

*

Margaret sat on a cushioned chair in the rec room, trying to get her eyes used to reading off a datapad. The mostly healed wound in her chest still ached if she moved too suddenly, but she tried not to show it where Hawkeye might see her. The guilty look on his face made her feel like there had to have been something she could have done to keep from getting hurt. Hawkeye sprawled over one of the blobby orange chairs as though he'd been carelessly thrown there, losing badly to Pavel Chekov at some bastard child of chess, while Radar played ping pong with a girl in a gold minidress. Klinger was off in a corner playing poker.

"What are you reading?" Geoff M'Benga had settled into a chair nearby, close enough to converse, but not so close as to invade her space.

She looked up from the page of emergency protocols she was trying to memorize to say, "Three hundred years of nursing theory."

"Sounds exciting."

She set the datapad down. "You know, it is. There's a lot that's changed, but there's more that really hasn't. I'm starting to feel like I could make the leap."

"You're serious about Leonard, aren't you?"

She tried on a noncommittal shrug. "I know where I stand with him."

"He certainly doesn't mince words," M'Benga said. "You doing okay?"

She leaned back in the chair and tossed the datapad aside. "I'm worried about him. About them. Do you blame me? I spent a few hours on a Klingon ship and ended up in a fight to the death. With Hawkeye! They've been prisoners for almost two days!"

M'Benga smiled sympathetically and turned toward the ping pong table. "Speaking of which, Radar, Captain Una wants you to brief her in an hour. We'll be back in orbit around Earthtoo in six."

Margaret huffed, "Earth...two? Is that what we're calling my home now?"

"For the moment," M'Benga responded.

Radar and Hawkeye slipped out of the rec room together. Chekov shouted after Hawkeye, "You're just leaving because you're not any good at 3D chess!"

Hawkeye called back over his shoulder, "You messed up a perfectly good board game is what you did!"

Margaret collected the datapad she'd borrowed from Christine and tapped open the nurse practitioner's reference manual. She offered M'Benga a tight smile. "Whatever happens between Leonard and me, I'm not planning on going home. Once it gets out that we're responsible for what's just happened to Earth, none of us will be able to just go back to our lives."

"Hence all the studying."

She shrugged. "That and it gives me something to think about besides worrying about Leonard and riding herd on the boys. I'm reading up on triage and first aid--whatever happens I'll be down on Earth helping with recovery for the next while and if we can get some of your tech to help it would be good if I knew how to use it."

*

Spock knelt on the floor of their cell, hands steepled in front of him. Hunnicutt and McCoy sat a couple of meters away, their backs against the wall, forearms dangling over their knees. "Are we agreed that the characters I will attempt to communicate are, in order, N, O, C, H, G. A, T, W, A, R, P."

Dr. McCoy sighed and tapped the back of his head against the metal wall. "Yeah. I know it's a lot of work for not much information, but if we don't check in on schedule Enterprise will assume the worst."

"I believe continued proof of life provides comfort to our comrades and increases our chances of rescue."

"I still can't believe you never thought of doing this with Jim. It would have come in handy."

"I admit to being somewhat chagrined that the possibility had not occurred to me. I suspect that a lack of exposure to a cultural paradigm allowed young O'Reilly to apply lateral thinking to our situation." He closed his eyes, dismissing them from his awareness. His bond to Jim was stronger than the mentorship link he shared with O'Reilly, but neither connection had the resolution at this distance to communicate anything save their continued existence and, perhaps, extreme distress. Merely two hours after he and his companions had been taken, however, his link with O'Reilly had begun to fluctuate at intervals, weaker, then stronger. The fluctuations lasted an hour, then stopped, by which time it was clear that they followed a precise pattern of increases lasting one to three minutes, and decreases of similar length, arranged in a familiar pattern.

Leave it to a twentieth century radio and telegraph operator to devise a means to use a faint, long distance mental link to communicate in Morse code. They had, over the past two days, consistently met once every four hours, alternating between sending and receiving. Deciding his level of focus was sufficient for the task, Spock picked up the link to the young clerk, finding that it grew stronger every time they made an attempt, and found it open and still, an empty page waiting to be written upon. He began the laborious process of opening and blocking the link in the precise rhythm necessary, like pressing a telegraph key, but in achingly slow motion. The effort tired him noticeably--it must be exhausting for O'Reilly.

When the message was complete, he unfolded himself to stretch. Hunnicutt had fallen asleep on the bench, while McCoy sat nearby, watching them both. "Did you get through?"

"I did. Each attempt is less difficult than the last. I believe we may be able to increase the length of the message string on the next attempt."

"Gesh brought rations. I think it's all meat of some kind, but if you can stomach it, you should eat something."

The rations consisted of dried meat jerky, flatbread, and a savory spread. Having encountered Klingon prisoners' rations before, he was curious as to the relatively high quality. He consumed the bread, which did indeed taste as though it had been flavored with some animal byproduct, but left the jerky for the other two men. McCoy stuffed the jerky into his jacket against a later need. "Wish I knew what they were planning to do with us."

"The fact that we have been fed, provided rudimentary medical supplies, and have not been questioned suggests that we are to serve as bargaining chips, either to appease the Klingon High Council when it inevitably discovers the failed attempt at conquest or to trade for prisoners being held on Earth."

"The High Council has biomarkers for Jim. They'll know something's up."

Spock regarded Hunnicutt. "It is to be hoped they will consider a man out of time and an inhabitant of a new planet in their space sufficiently valuable to keep alive."

"If this headache doesn't let up soon I'm not sure I'll care," Hunnicutt complained. "Bones, you got anything left in that bag?"

McCoy fished through his bag for a hypospray and pressed it to the surgeon's throat. "Don't wait until it's bad before you ask. I topped off my supply in Seoul."

"Do you think Peg and Erin are going to be okay?"

Spock nodded gravely. "They will suffer no lasting harm from my interventions."

BJ waved away his reassurances. "No. I mean, I know there's not much chance I'm ever going to see them again. And I know Peg is strong. She can take care of herself. But growing up without a dad is hard."

"Peg will make sure Erin knows how much you love her," McCoy said.

"I hope--" he swallowed and rubbed his face. "I hope she and Hawkeye can work something out. I mean, in the end it's up to them, you can't make two people fall in love, but if I can't be there for them, I hope the two of them can find a way to be there for each other and Erin."

Spock was puzzled. "You desire that your wife and your lover enter into a romantic relationship?"

"You know, I entertained these wild fantasies of bringing him home to her after the war. Like somehow the three of us could make a go of it together and no one would have to lose anyone. It was selfish of me to think I could have them both. So I suppose it's poetic justice that I've ended up here without either one of them."

"You are not a selfish man, Captain Hunnicutt. A selfish man would not have volunteered to take Jim's place."

Hunnicutt laughed bitterly. "Maybe I thought they were going to shoot everyone but you three."

"That is untrue," Spock corrected gently.

"So. The Klingon homeworld. What's it like?"

"About ten times worse than you're imagining," McCoy grumbled.

"Your comments are neither accurate nor helpful, Doctor," Spock noted. "We must remain alert for all opportunities to improve our situation."

"You go ahead and do that. I'm going to try to sleep." McCoy leaned back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. It was unlikely that he would, in fact, sleep, but Spock elected to respect his desire to end the conversation, given that there was no way either of them could do so by leaving the room or claiming to have duties elsewhere.

Spock began to work through a series of exercises in order to remain limber and preserve his strength, modifying them to account for his missing limb. After a time, soft snoring told him that both humans had indeed fallen asleep. Perhaps they would awaken in a more productive mood.

*

Wakod's ships were surrounded and outnumbered, five to sixteen. Sixteen, from no less than seven of the great houses. They made a cage of ships around him, above and below, before and behind, port and starboard, then slowed until his ships were forced out of warp lest they collide with the warp bubbles of their neighbors. 

That insufferably snide little paper pusher Kor appeared on his viewscreen. "You had to have known we'd find out about your discovery sooner rather than later, Wakod," Kor said. "And then you had to botch it so badly the Organians got involved?"

Wakod sneered, "You are the one who caused the Organians to take an interest in our conflict with the Federation in the first place, Kor."

"When we knew nothing of the meddlesome wretches. You, on the other hand, ought to have known." He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the spectacle of Wakod's failure.

Wakod shouted back at him, as though he could make up in volume what he lacked in solid arguments in his favor. "The duplicate Earth is in our territory. They should have left it alone."

Kor bit off his reply. "You should have left it alone and brought news of your find to the High Council."

"To delay would have allowed the Federation time to locate the planet and make a claim of their own. It was not the Organians' place to interfere inside our territory."

Kor grimaced. "The Earthers themselves have a saying: Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger. Stand down and prepare to be boarded. Your ships aren't worth hauling all the way to whatever you're calling that planet and back to Qo'nos, so don't try our patience." He stabbed at the button on his armrest and the screen went blank.

Wakod fired first.


	3. In which Radar goes home and Peg needs a friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Radar returns to Ottumwa with Hawkeye in tow. BJ, Spock, and McCoy suffer a change in circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel that this is a good time to warn the reader that when I selected Lavrentiy Beria as the likely next leader of the Soviet Union on the death of Stalin two years early, I had not dug far enough into his biographical materials to know just what kind of human monster he was. Hence the events at the end of this chapter, which deal with an indirect discussion of prior sexual assault, not a specific assault in progress.

Hawkeye stood on the Observation Deck, staring out a wide window framed with exotic plants. Radar stood beside him, while Klinger lounged, false casual, against the narrow rail. The Earth, their Earth, turned below them, blue and white and streaked with the grays of unquenched fires. "Captain Una said she'd put us down wherever we wanted."

Hawkeye shrugged. "Where do you want to go?"

"I want to go home. See my Ma and my Uncle Ed."

"Then do it. Think your Ma would put me up for a while?" Radar, to his eye, looked tired and stretched thin, pale under the Earthlight coming through the window. The kid was his only assurance that BJ was still alive somewhere, but the strain his psychic Morse code scheme was putting on him didn't sit well with Hawkeye as a doctor. If he had the choice, he'd have Radar parked right here in the Enterprise sickbay with Dr. M'Benga, who at least seemed to have some clue how to look after him. Failing that, his plan was to stick to the kid like a limpet.

Radar chewed his lip. "I think she'd like to meet you. I wrote her about you, you know." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. "We should go."

Hawkeye and Klinger had stubbornly retained their twenty-third century civvies, relying on each other to present a united front in their insistence that they were former military rather than current, given that the war they had been drafted to fight was now a little beside the point. Hawkeye reveled in the rich colors and the overall pleasantness of space age fabric on his skin. Klinger, he was sure, secretly enjoyed the ambiguity provided by an entire category of clothing that made no claims as to the gender of its wearer. The crew members they passed on their route greeted them with smiles and nods as though they belonged there--though given the stories circulating in the rec room every evening, that might just be relief that they hadn't turned out to be professional con artists, megalomaniacs, or amoral energy beings.

When they reached the transporter room Major Houlihan was waiting for them. She turned to Hawkeye first. "Captain Pierce." He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with one of her patented terrifying looks. "You and O'Reilly are each being issued standard communicators and datapads and will be expected to remain in contact with the Enterprise." She passed them the communicators. They already carried the datapads with them practically everywhere. "Pierce, you'll be looking after Edward McMann as he recovers from his heart attack. You'll also be responsible for monitoring Corporal O'Reilly's condition and sending reports and scans to Dr. M'Benga."

"I want you to know it's because I'd do it anyway, not because you ordered me to," Hawkeye clarified tightly.

She ignored his protest. "Klinger, HQ wants you to debrief in DC. Take off that fluffy peach monstrosity and be on the ground in twenty minutes. The transporter tech will know where to put you down."

"Why do I need to change?"

"Because despite what you seem to think, you're still a soldier in the United States Army," she snapped at him. "And I won't have these good people's position jeopardized because you show up in a clown costume."

Klinger paused to think. Eventually, he sighed heavily and agreed. "I'll change into uniform and be right back. But once I'm debriefed I'm getting my discharge papers."

Houlihan snapped at his retreating back, "And wipe that paint off your face." 

Klinger stomped out the door, grumbling and not looking where he was going so that Captain Una had to dodge him on her way into the room. A moment later, a security officer in red took his place just behind and to her right. Houlihan paused, mouth open to address Radar. "Captain," she said instead.

"Don't let me interrupt you," the captain said.

Houlihan turned back to Radar. "I don't have to tell you how to do your job. Just--our guys are counting on you."

"I know, Major."

Captain Una caught the corporal's attention. "O'Reilly, your primary contact is Lieutenant Uhura. Check in fifteen minutes before each send cycle and as soon as you can after each receiving cycle."

"I will, Captain."

Una stepped onto the platform with her security officer. Margaret followed. The three of them shimmered to invisibility. The transporter tech waved Radar and Hawkeye onto the platform. Hawkeye tried not to think about why traveling this way ought to be impossible. Radar tugged at his hat.

The room fizzled out and was replaced by a front porch and a mob of offended chickens. Radar ran up the steps and rang the doorbell, then stood wringing his hands until the door flew open. A sturdy little woman put her hands to her face in surprise, then dragged Radar into the house by the arms and enveloped him in a tight hug. Radar squawked, but squeezed right back and sniffled into her shoulder. "I'm home, Ma!"

Hawkeye slipped in behind and closed the door. Radar's mother led him to the couch and sat him down to peer seriously into his face. "You look different. Where are your glasses, young man?"

"I got my eyes fixed. I don't need 'em anymore."

She tilted her head to the side a little. "Hmm. That's not all of it. You look older. Grown up."

"Maaa!" He seemed to remember that Hawkeye was present. "Oh, this is Cap'n Pierce. He came to help out with Uncle Ed."

"Hawkeye Pierce? The surgeon?" Edna asked.

"One and the same."

"Well. In that case, come with me to the kitchen. I fill you in on Ed and you can help me put something together for my boy to eat." She took him by the elbow and fairly dragged him out of the room. Once they were more or less alone, she started pulling sandwich fixings out of the icebox. "What happened to my Walter? He's got dark circles under his eyes and he looks like he's lost twenty pounds!"

Hawkeye evaded, "He's been sick. I'm partly here to look after him."

"Well, I'm his mother and I'm sure I can look after him as well as you can, doctor. Was it the dysentery? He's always writing me about the dysentery."

"No, ma'am, it wasn't the dysentery. He's been working too hard and he's worried about some friends."

She nodded gravely. "Bones, BJ, and Spock. Any word on what happened to them?"

"They're alive and on one of the Klingon ships. Radar cooked up a scheme to keep in contact with them, but we can't get a lot of information back and forth at a time. We're hoping for a prisoner exchange. We trade their people for ours."

Radar bounced into the room with a gurgling baby in his arms, his eyes bright and cheerful for a change. "Look what I found!"

Edna clapped her hands and pressed them to her heart, beaming. "She's awake! Hawkeye, this is Erin Hunnicutt."

Hawkeye held out a finger for her to grasp. She went for his nose instead, chortling. Radar passed her to him without so much as a 'may I?' and started rummaging in the pantry. 

"Sit down, son, I'll get you something to eat!"

"Yes, Ma." Radar slunk back to the kitchen table, sat down, and grabbed a roll to nibble.

Hawkeye held Erin up to his face. She had BJ's eyes, bright blue, wide and curious under wispy blonde hair. She looked so much like BJ it made his chest hurt. "Where's Peg?"

Edna sighed. "Upstairs. Pretending to sleep. There was an incident, right before your friends were taken. You should go up and see her."

"They didn't--" He prayed that the first thought that came to mind wasn't what had happened.

Edna caught his meaning. "Nothing like that, no. And it's not my story to tell."

Hawkeye nodded. "I'll go up to see her as soon as I have a look at Ed. Where have you got him?"

"Guest room." She gestured with her chin.

Hawkeye reluctantly handed Edna the baby and found his way to the first floor guest room, leaving them alone so Radar could tell her whatever he intended to share about the last few weeks. Ed lay propped on the guest room bed with an oxygen mask. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his breath was wheezy and punctuated with weak coughs. Hawkeye didn't even need to get out his stethoscope to diagnose acute heart failure.

"Hi Ed, I'm Dr. Pierce, how are you feeling?" he said, sitting down beside the bed. Ed looked at him without turning his head and raised a hand to make a so-so gesture.

He fished around in his pocket for the communicator and opened it two handed, not having figured out the wrist motion to flip it open yet. He tapped in the short code for Sickbay. Chapel answered. "Pierce, what can I help you with?"

"I'm here with Ed McMann. He's in advanced heart failure. I can hear him wheezing from across the room, he's sweaty and poorly perfused. Is there any way you could get him up to the ship?"

"I'm afraid the combination of transport stress and the shock of being in an unfamiliar place could kill him before we could cure him." She paused, probably to consult with M'Benga. I'll be down in thirty minutes with a heart kit. We'll regrow the muscle on site. Give him the tri-ox, furosemide and isomorphine now. I'll need you to administer the chemical revascularizing agent when I arrive. but don't worry, I've seen the boss do it many times. I'll talk you through."

"Yes, ma'am." Some days Christine Chapel reminded him a lot of Margaret. She'd have to, to hold her own against Bones every day. He collected the hyposprays from the satchel he'd filled with miscellaneous medical stuff cadged from Sickbay, set the dials according to the recommended dosages on his datapad, and pressed each to Ed's throat.

The stairs creaked. A slight figure cast a shadow through the open door to the guest room. Hawkeye looked up to see Peg, the Peg from BJ's carefully curated collection of photographs, thinner and more drawn, perhaps, and with her hair in disarray. She ran fingers through it to try to get it in order when she realized she'd caught his eye but gave up after a few seconds. "Hawkeye Pierce," she said, in a voice both sad and dreamy.

He stood, took a hesitant step in her direction and reached out, but stopped himself. Theirs was a secondhand relationship, however much it felt like he knew her. "Peg Hunnicutt."

"BJ's gone. They took him." She rolled her lips, and turned her gaze upward, blinking back tears. "I'm so sorry, Hawkeye."

He said the only thing he could say. "BJ's alive."

She lost control of herself and sobbed, loud and ugly, clutching the doorframe for support, her shoulders shaking and her face hidden behind one arm. "You don't know that. You can't know that."

"Radar's keeping an eye. Or whatever it is he keeps. And I know that there are people doing everything they can to bring him back to us." The fact that, right now, there was nothing to be done didn't need to be said.

She slid down the doorframe to the floor in an angular crumple. He dropped down beside her. "He loves you, you know," she sniffled.

"He loves you, too," he replied, "More than anyone loved anyone in the history of the world." He hoped she would forgive his hyperbole.

"Well, isn't that a pickle." She laughed, the sound falling somewhere between camaraderie and hysteria. "I bet you're wondering what he ever saw in me."

"What, because you're crying? I cry ten times a day." He made a show of looking her over. "Actually, I'm thinking he may have sold you a little short, and not just in the 5'2" way."

She threw him a sad smile for his efforts and wiped at her eyes with the hem of her dress. "I've been trying to find BJ's parents. They didn't get along, but they should know what happened to him." She sighed. "I'm pretty sure they're gone, too, though. Poof! Just like that." She snapped her fingers. "Like my house, and my grocery store, and Judy, and Carol, and the real estate office. All the houses I was trying to sell. I don't think anyone's going to want them now." She laughed joylessly at the thin joke.

Hawkeye had lost BJ--maybe. Maybe they'd get him back. But Crabapple Cove was just as it had been. His dad was safe. His home was still his home. "Do you think, after things settle down, you and BJ and Erin would like to come to stay at my Dad's place?"

She sniffled. "Do you think things are ever going to settle down?"

He scooted closer to her, still keeping that little bit of space between them. "I think they will, someday."

"BJ never claimed you were an optimist. You don't have to pretend to be one for my sake."

Hawkeye backed up to take a long look at her. "How do you know me so well already?"

Peg's smile was a little more natural, if still sad. "BJ's letters gave me a good outline. Now that you're here, I can fill in the details."

*

When BJ Hunnicutt imagined the possibility that he would be captured by an enemy, his nightmares were full of misery and fear and the threat of torture. He had not envisioned the degree to which boredom would shape his days. Their cell was twelve feet by fifteen feet if he remembered his paces correctly. All of the surfaces were metal, most of it corrugated and all of it tinted a dull reddish-brown. There was a shelf just deep enough to sit on running along the wall opposite the door. A small hole in the floor served as their toilet.

Twice a day, food and water were pushed through the door, always by Gesh, who asked after their health and had begun to provide a meager amount of non meat based food, mostly inexpertly prepared pancake like flatbreads. He suspected the Klingon might have been attempting to make them himself for reasons known only to him. Every four hours by his eerily perfect internal clock, Spock settled into a meditative posture and spent an hour alternately sending brief messages to Radar back home or receiving messages in turn, which meant the best bits of his day were those tiny snippets of communication.

Spock spent a lot of his time meditating. Bones spent much of his pacing. BJ split the difference. Spock's patient instruction in managing his feelings of anger and helplessness was probably keeping him sane. At the moment, BJ and Spock were playing chess on a board drawn on the back of BJ's jacket, using pieces cut from a bandage wrapper. Bones watched from the sidelines and offered unsolicited advice, mostly to BJ, which they both disregarded. The man was not a very good chess player. 

The lights flickered. Bones, whose medkit was never out of arm's reach, reached out to collect it. BJ contemplated sacrificing a knight to take Spock's bishop. The lights flickered again and then went out entirely, plunging all three of them into absolute darkness. He felt a hand on his knee and heard Bones' voice saying, "Keep still for now."

There was a faint, swooping feeling in his stomach, reminding him that they were not in fact stationary. "Brace yourselves," Spock said quietly.

Brace himself on what? BJ thought for the split second before down was suddenly and violently not in the direction it had been. He curled into a ball to protect his head. The three of them ended up in a tumble of limbs in a corner. An ugly, metallic scree tore through the room, unseen in the pitch blackness.

A hand wrapped around his upper arm hard enough to bruise. BJ felt around until he caught hold of the bench over his head and gripped it as tightly as he could. "Bones?" he said.

The cascade of swearing next to his ear assured him that Bones was alive and oriented. Another deep, vibrating rattle preceded a sharp jerk that nearly broke his grip on the bench, then suddenly the floor dropped out from under them. BJ's mouth filled with saliva and he swallowed nausea.

The sensation of falling didn't end. He felt like the only things anchoring him to the physical world were Spock's grip on his shoulder and his own on the bench. The metal around them shuddered and squealed again. There was an ominous hissing across the room. 'We are under attack," Spock said. 

"Could it be your people?" BJ risked asking. Speaking made his stomach lurch.

"No, Organians won't let us shoot at them, or them shoot at us," McCoy said. "Probably a different Klingon House. We're gonna be fought over like two dogs fighting over a bone. If we don't suffocate first."

"Your elucidation of the situation is not productive, doctor," Spock responded.

Bones' tone shifted. "BJ, we might get beamed out of here. If we do, look around before you act, try to stay with us, and don't say a word unless they speak to you first."

"Should I still pretend to be Jim?"

"No," Spock said.

"Just try to keep your mouth shut," McCoy told him. "We're probably going to die of lack of oxygen before they find us anyway."

"Dr. McCoy, please desist from such pessimistic musings. You are causing Dr. Hunnicutt unnecessary distress."

"Thanks, Spock. I feel so much better now," BJ said sarcastically. His limbs tingled. Light dappled the space around him and he was abruptly glad he hadn't been able to see the tangle of crumpled sheet metal that had been their cell. Beside him, Spock and McCoy dissolved into gold as his vision filled with glittering static.

*

Leonard's shoulders were grabbed as soon as he was solid, dragging him away from Spock. Arms shoved him forward into a group of other humans, mostly men, with a few women and, shockingly, two tiny children among them. The state of their clothes and hygiene suggested that all had been imprisoned for about the same amount of time as he had. 

Two Klingons, both women this time, shoved a third into the crowd of prisoners, growling, "You love humans so much, let them decide what to do with you!" The door clanged shut. His fellow prisoners clustered into groups, mostly pointing and muttering at the Klingon thrown into their midst. For his part, the Klingon moved a little away from them to stand at wary attention. To the extent he could tell them apart in the low light, he thought it might be Gesh.

"Atten-shun!" a voice said smartly, and while only a couple of the room's occupants actually stood at attention, everyone was instantly silent.

"General Ridgway, Pacific theater," the voice continued, giving Leonard a chance to seek him out among the faces in the room. "Let's get ourselves organized. First, is there anyone here with medical training?"

Leonard stepped forward, medkit in hand. BJ raised his good hand as well. "We're both surgeons. I'll set up shop in the corner. BJ, you're with me. I want a look at those kids."

"Hold up one moment," Ridgway said. "There are those among our number who are historical enemies. It would also appear that we must endure the presence of an enemy of us all." He glared in the Klingon's general direction. "As long as we remain here, let us put aside our differences and focus on remaining alive and well." A man rushed forward to spit at the Klingon's feet. Ridgway grabbed him by the collar. "I will not allow us to descend into savagery."

BJ touched Leonard's elbow. "Where's Spock?"

"They separated him out as soon as we got here," Leonard told him. He raised his voice. "If you need medical treatment, come on over." BJ sat down cross legged against the wall and popped Bones' bag open to play scrub nurse. Injured prisoners began to cluster around them.

Leonard considered BJ's arm, still wrapped tight to his body. "Can you triage for me?"

"Sure." BJ turned to the cluster of people sitting on the floor and quickly examined each. "I'll medicate the heart patient and get the belly patient lying down. You want to give an antibiotic?"

"How many doses do we have?"

BJ flipped through the ampules with his good hand. "Ten each of tetracycline and penicillin," he said.

"Give one dose of tetracycline."

BJ dosed the man with the tense belly and looked over the rest of the patients. "Take the little boy next. I'm worried about his head injury."

Leonard had the mother hold the little boy while he ran a medscanner over him. He watched Leonard's every move with large, solemn eyes. "No bleeding, no fracture, I'm happy to say. What's your name son?"

The boy looked up at his mother, who nodded. "Charlie," he said.

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Charlie. Does your head hurt?"

"Yes," he said very quietly.

"That your baby sister?" He gestured to the baby tucked into BJ's patient's arms.

"Annie," he mumbled. Annie, when Leonard lifted her, was floppy. She half opened her eyes, but otherwise didn't protest or interfere with the scans. "She needs fluids and nutrition. What have you been able to feed her?"

The mother shook her head. "I can get her to take a little water--she doesn't know how to take a cup yet. And she gums that bread they give us." She sighed. "They didn't think Miss Begley was worth bringing along."

Leonard passed Annie to BJ. "I think for now we'll just keep an eye on young Charlie here. I don't have anything I'm comfortable with giving a child his age. As for Annie, she's not in immediate danger unless we aren't given rations soon. Give her a hit of tetracycline too though, Beej. I don't like the sound of that cough."

"Next time they feed us, we'll make a porridge out of the bread and get it into her that way," BJ suggested. He lay the baby in the cradle of his crossed legs and turned to check on the heart patient.

Leonard collected a man with a messy cut over one eye. "I ought to have told that Gesh kid I needed more supplies than I really did. Do I have any disinfecting wipes left?"

BJ collected one from the bag while Leonard examined his patient, an ascetically built man in late middle age with a nasty cut stretching from his left eye to his hairline. "Is that him?" He gestured in the direction of the Klingon standing by the door.

"Gesh? I think it is. Wonder what he did to end up stuck in here with us." He worked gently and methodically with the wipe. "There's shrapnel in here. Can I get a forceps and the dermal regenerator with the precision tip on it?"

BJ passed the forceps. "Dermal regenerator's at seventy-four percent," he noted.

"Good."

"Bones."

"Mmm-hmmm?"

"That's Clement Attlee." He paused, apparently expecting Leonard to know who the hell Clement Attlee was. "The Prime Minister of Great Britain."

"Who has a torn eyelid that needs to be repaired so he can close his eye properly and not go blind," Leonard said. He passed the dermal regenerator back with a power level of sixty-nine percent and BJ stowed it. He finished bandaging the wound and moved on to run his scanner over the man with the suspicious belly. There was damage to the liver, a small tear in the transverse colon, and blood leaking from the hepatic portal vein. All surgical and he had no way of performing surgery here. He shook his head. "Nothing I can do for him. Give him morphine and keep him as comfortable as you can."

BJ loaded another ampule. He was getting good at operating the hypospray one handed. "What do you think they've done with Spock?"

"Probably interrogating him. Once he's got them convinced he doesn't know anything critical they'll probably stick him back in here."

"You sound pretty sure."

"I'm trying to. Keep a close eye on the heart patient."

A man in Lieutenant's stripes and a woman with a clipboard approached them. "We're taking some basic information down. Can I get your name, position and where you were captured?"

"BJ Hunnicutt, US Army surgeon and the last is classified."

Leonard looked up from his datapad. "Leonard H. McCoy, Ship's Surgeon, Starfleet, temporarily assigned to the United States Navy, and I came with him so also classified. My colleague, Commander Spock, was separated from us as soon as we arrived. That Klingon was our jailor. So far as I know he's a good kid, for a Klingon. Let's keep him alive and in good shape until he can be tried properly, shall we?'

"You know what they did to us, don't you, Starfleet?"

"I know what _they_ did. I have no idea what he did and I'd just as soon not do their dirty work for them."

The rest of the injured were a smattering of government and military employees, the most politically significant being the Prime Minister and, as it happened, the man he'd just given drugs for a possible heart attack. He was listening to the man's bad sounding lungs when he heard Attlee say, "And that's His Royal Highness, King George VI." His Royal Highness, unfortunately, was unlikely to live more than a few hours without care beyond his ability to provide, not with end stage lung cancer, pneumonia with signs of incipient sepsis, and heart failure in one deadly package.

BJ stared down at the baby in his lap. "Wait a minute. Charlie and Annie. That explains why they would take children. Prince Charles and Princess Anne."

"And Princess Elizabeth," Attlee added, indicating the children's mother.

It turned out that of the sixteen of them, thirteen were what Ridgway presumed would be high value prisoners. Attlee and the royal family, Ridgway himself, Spock and Bones, White House Chief of Staff John Steelman, the expectant belly patient, a Lavrentiy Beria, along with three other Russians, Nikita Kruschev, Georgy Malenkov, and Svetlana Alliluyeva. The woman who had accompanied the American lieutenant was a well known American war correspondent named Marguerite Higgins.

Lavrentiy Beria died four hours later. His Russian colleagues seemed more relieved than sorrowful at his passing. Svetlana asked Leonard twice through tears and heavily accented English if he was sure the man was dead, then slipped past him to kick and pummel the body viciously. When Leonard moved to stop her, Princess Elizabeth passed him Charlie, effectively tying his hands, and collected the woman herself, saying loudly and clearly, "Let no man touch her. She has been through enough."

She and Higgins shepherded the woman away. Leonard grimaced, realizing the significance of the scene. "To think we wasted morphine on him. BJ, when our captors return, tell them that was a rapist and have them haul it away so we don't have to look at it. Even Klingons don't waste oxygen on men like that." He hauled himself to his feet. "I'm the last person they're going to want to see, but she's going to need antibiotics. That bastard had syphilis, among other things."

As soon as his movement had left space in the tiny cell, Gesh slipped around behind him, the first movement Leonard had seen him make. He hefted Beria's body easily, throwing it carelessly over his shoulder to dump it next to the door. He then systematically stripped the body, removing anything that might be of value including the shoes, leaving the man only his underclothes. He deposited the items in front of Ridgway, curled the body onto its side, and sat on it.

The women closed their circle against Leonard as soon as they saw him approach. He sat, making himself smaller and less threatening, and quietly loaded an ampule of penicillin into his hypospray. He clenched his fist to keep his hand from shaking.

One of the women turned around. "And what do you want?"

"Beria had syphilis," he said quietly. "I have an antibiotic for her."

"You're the doctor from the future," she said. "Leonard McCoy, right?"

"That's right."

"Maggie Higgins, war correspondent. I was in Korea until recently. You don't know how many times I tried to get into that mobile army hospital over the last few weeks." She sobered again. "Beria took advantage of Lana many times over the last few years, along with it sounds like hundreds of other women and girls. I am certain her husband knew, but he was too afraid of Beria to stop it." She looked down. "You're shaking."

"I've seen too much of this kind of thing." Leonard looked down at his hands, then shook his head to clear it. "Anyway, do you think you could give her the hypo if I told you what to do?"

"Sure." She watched closely while he showed her which button to depress and where to place it against the external jugular. She returned the device after using it and Bones bobbled it so it clattered to the floor. 

BJ retrieved it and pulled him aside. "You all right?"

"I will be."

"You or someone you care about?" he asked. "Sorry, that's none of my business."

Intimate assault was unfortunately still a common enough event, especially when one's career exposed one to the unknown on a regular basis. With Spock and Jim's help he'd mostly worked his way through his own trauma, but it came back up every time he had to treat a crewmate after some ill fated mission, and the last time it had happened to Jim hadn't even been that long ago, really. "It's all right, BJ, and the answer's both. I'm fine, I've dealt with it, just sometimes--", he looked back at Beria. "Waste of morphine."


	4. In which Captain Kirk finally gets his ship back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise returns to Earthtoo, reuniting Kirk with most of his crew. An Earthtoo ambassador is selected, and Spock and McCoy are briefly reunited.

Captain Una, Lieutenant Commander Giotto, and Major Houlihan materialized in a small outdoor courtyard through which men and a few women in military uniform or formal twentieth century suits walked with purpose. She found her presence noted with that sort of incurious attention common to people who were accustomed to combining situational awareness with respect for government secrecy. A trio of uniformed men greeted them. The man in the center's gaze settled on Giotto. "Captain Una? My name is George Marshall, United States Secretary of Defense. This is General Smith of the Central Intelligence Agency, and Admiral Burke, United States Navy."

Giotto looked from Marshall to Una, appalled.

"I am Captain Una," she corrected. "Lieutenant Commander Anthony Giotto, my Chief of Security, and Major Margaret Houlihan."

Marshall blinked at her as if her words made no sense. After a few moments, he muttered, "I'm going to kill Jim Kirk," then continued in a more level voice, "My apologies, I am unfamiliar with your rank insignia. Please follow me, Captain, Commander, Major."

You assumed he was the captain because he's male, you mean, she grumbled internally, but kept a diplomatic smile on her face and allowed the Americans to lead her into their military fortress. It shouldn't irk her. Earth had been largely patriarchal until after the Eugenics Wars, and even now, the pendulum found a way to swing backward from time to time, as it had somewhat under the current Admiralty. The war with the Klingons had cost them more than just infrastructure and lives, it had taken the best, brightest, most creative people in Starfleet and preferentially spared unimaginative, reactionary padd pushers. Nearly two decades later they were still paying the price. She wondered if the Klingons had suffered similarly.

They were led to a small conference room, already occupied by Captain Kirk in the uniform of the local navy, a couple more men in suits, and a younger woman in uniform, a Lieutenant it looked like, sitting in front of some kind of recording device. Marshall gestured to the men at the table in turn. "President Harry S. Truman, Secretary of State Dean Acheson and I assume you know Captain James Kirk?"

"You assume correctly. Jim Kirk, I'm glad to see you're safe and well."

Jim scrubbed his hands over his face. Behind his diplomatic smile, Una could see exhaustion in the set of his shoulders and the lines around his eyes. "I wish I could say the same for Spock and Bones. They were taken by the Klingons when they bugged out. I know Spock's alive yet, but that's all I know."

"The three of them are being held together and in good condition as of four hours ago," Una told him.

"How the hell?" Kirk said, trailing off when he caught the eye of the several local military men.

Una raised both eyebrows. "You know, the long distance _radar_ monitoring system."

Kirk's eyes widened at the misdirection, but he nodded sagely. "Of course. Any word on the Federation response?"

"I've spoken to Ambassador Sarek. He's getting the ball rolling."

Truman leaned back in his chair so that it squeaked under him. "Captains, I'm glad you're catching up and all, but let's try to get on track. Our biggest concern is that the Klingons may just come back with more people and more bombs as soon as the Organians lose interest. After that, and I hate to put this second, we have sixteen major cities around the world, including three right here in the US obliterated, and each of those surrounded by a ring of damaged infrastructure and hurt and homeless people we've got to take care of. And then, only then we've got the problem of the hostages. We don't have a complete count of how many people they took with them. We think it's around two dozen. But that includes some high level officials in the Soviet Union, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and several members of the royal family. Along with General Ridgway, the Secretary of Agriculture and my chief of staff."

"Given that at least some of the hostages are alive, it's likely they're hoping to exchange them for something. You can bet they'll be back," Kirk said.

Una addressed the president directly. "Our greatest challenges will be the Prime Directive, which I believe we have a good case to nullify due to significant prior interference, and your location within Klingon space. It seems likely that the Organians have an ulterior motive in providing us with this enforced truce, and if you're willing we may be able to parlay that into aid."

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

"The Federation will be loathe to leave a planet of two and a half billion humans under Klingon control. The Klingons, on the other hand, will not want to let go of prime real estate like Earth. It's just possible we may be able to engender a trade."

"We've got fifty million dead in less than a week because of those Klingons. I can't see our people looking kindly on helping them."

"Unfortunately, you're in their territory, so we're already starting from behind."

"Well, who decided this was their territory in the first place? When a totalitarian expansionist regime tries to expand its territory on Earth, we do our damnedest to stop them."

Una shook her head. "You know as well as I do it's not that simple."

Truman pushed up out of his chair. "Well, it ought to be!"

Marshall stopped the developing argument with a cutting gesture. "Kirk. best, worst, and most likely scenarios in your opinion."

Kirk put on a diplomatic smile and said, "Captain Una has more recent intelligence. She has a better grasp of the current situation."

Una was a little annoyed with his buck passing, but realized he was making an effort to get them to treat her seriously. And he was right. "Best case scenario. The Federation and the Klingon Empire are willing to work together under Organian supervision to mitigate the damage done to the planet. Your Earth is given the chance to freely join the Federation. And we're able to trade food relief or Klingon prisoners for the hostages."

Kirk added, "I concur. That will depend on the position of the rest of the Empire on the House that attempted to annex the planet in the first place."

"Precisely. Worst case scenario. The Klingon Empire claims Earthtoo, and Organia demands the Federation withdraw from Klingon space. The hostages may or may not be returned--it's almost a guarantee we won't get our own people back."

"That also sounds accurate," Kirk agreed reluctantly. 

"And not even Ambassador Sarek has enough clout to push for a rescue mission under those circumstances," she continued. "I'm sorry, Captain." She paused to think through the most challenging part of the question. "Most likely scenario, that's hard to say. The Klingon Empire's goals are likely to be retaining access to agricultural products from this Earth and minimizing the loss of territory. The Federation wants to avoid another war, but they're also not going to want a human occupied planet capable of rapid technological advancement, with its potential for strengthening the Klingon's position, to be added to the Empire. Most likely endgame is years of squabbling and negotiations while this planet suffers the climatological consequences of the photon torpedo strikes."

"Which means you have to be the voice of reason in all this, Mr. Truman," Kirk said. "You lead the only remaining major power that still has continuity of government, given that Great Britain and the Soviet Union's leadership are being held hostage and no one can figure out who's in charge in China since Mao's gone to ground."

"I'd feel more comfortable with that if he weren't the first human to use nuclear weapons against a civilian population," Una groused. At Truman's incensed look, she added, "Goes to credibility, Mr. President."

"As I was saying," Kirk continued. "You will, by default, be making decisions for the entire planet unless Chairman Mao is found, and he's going to be an even less palatable choice to negotiate with the Federation. You're going to need to convince both the Federation and the Klingon Empire that it's in their best interest to cooperate with each other, and you're going to have to convince an entire planet to go along with you on it."

"That's a tall order, Captain, especially given I also have a country in crisis to run."

"And given the current administration's standing in the last poll before this all went down, I'm not sure you have the mandate to build a coalition," Acheson noted grimly. "I think we should appoint an Ambassador to carry our torch."

"What about Trygvie Lie and the UN?" Truman asked.

Acheson answered, "We're trying to find out how many of the delegates made it out of Paris. The Committee on Human Rights was meeting in Geneva, so they're all safe."

Truman pulled off his glasses to wipe them. "See what you can do to assemble as many additional delegates as you can in Geneva," he told Acheson.

Una nodded. "I'll leave that to your best judgment. We have science teams working on mitigating the effects of the particulates in the atmosphere in hopes you won't lose a growing season on top of everything else."

"Oh, good, something else to worry about," Truman muttered into his hand.

Una continued, "I want to get Jim Kirk back to his command. I'm willing to stay on here myself as a liaison with Starfleet until such time as I receive other orders. In addition, I'd like have Major Houlihan accompany the captain back to the Enterprise to ensure seamless communication."

Truman paused again, stifling a yawn that seemed exhausted rather than bored. "I'm still not comfortable with letting go of Kirk."

"With all due respect, Mr. President, my place is on the bridge of my ship," Kirk interrupted.

"You signed on to my chain of command," Admiral Burke noted.

"Until I received orders. I have now received those orders. You get me back to my ship and I will find the hostages and bring them back. All of them." He twisted the ring on his finger absently.

Truman rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Fine. I'd rather not have you here against your will. Get back to your ship and do your damnedest to find my people. As to a planetary Ambassador, we need someone with a commitment to peace, world recognition, an ability to engage the public, and enough intelligence to deal with all of this craziness," Truman mused.

The secretary looked up from her typing. "Permission to make a suggestion, Mr. President?"

"Shoot."

"Eleanor Roosevelt."

Truman looked at her over his glasses. "An excellent suggestion, Miss--"

"Lieutenant Martin, Mr. President. But did she make it out of New York?"

General Smith nodded. "She's been in Geneva since the Dislocation." Una could hear the capitalization. The name sounded tantalizingly familiar. Wasn't Roosevelt the name of the previous President? She thought she remembered that from the histories she'd devoured on the way to Earthtoo. Was she a wife or a daughter perhaps?

"Excellent idea," Truman agreed. "She's trusted and popular outside the United States as well as at home. Shall we have her flown out here to be briefed?"

Kirk shook his head. "It would be faster to use the Enterprise transporters if you think she won't be scared off by them."

"That woman is afraid of nothing, so far as I can tell," Truman said, sounding slightly rueful.

Kirk nodded. "That's what we need. Major Houlihan, with me. It will be fastest if we beam directly to Geneva to pick up Mrs. Roosevelt."

Una turned from the President to Kirk. "I'll have the coordinates sent up to the ship. And welcome back."

"It's good to be back." Kirk picked up his cap and a stack of folders and left with Houlihan and Burke. Una turned to the room full of uniformed men. "Gentlemen, we have a lot of work to do."

*

Eleanor Roosevelt perched on the edge of her seat in the opulent lobby of the La Reserve-Geneve hotel, her overnight bag resting on her lap. When President Truman called not an hour before, she had expected him to ask for a list of delegates known to have survived the attack on Paris. She had not expected to be offered the position of Earth Ambassador at-large, nor had she anticipated leaving the planet entirely before supper to prepare to negotiate for hostages taken by an alien empire. It was a lot to take in. A musical sound somewhere between a metallic hum and the tone of a bell filled her ears. She turned to see two human shapes filled with shimmering gold flecks that resolved into a man and woman in military uniform. The man wore Navy Captain's bars and a brilliant smile that didn't reach his eyes. The woman, a very pretty Army Major, appeared wearing a grim expression, but scanned the lobby efficiently and put on a professional smile of her own as soon as her gaze caught Eleanor's.

Eleanor stood, smiled broadly, and met the two of them halfway to extend a hand. The major's grip was firm if a little too enthusiastic. "Major Margaret Houlihan. This is Captain James Kirk."

The Captain had the practiced handshake of a man accustomed to diplomacy. "Ma'am, I am so pleased to meet you. You are a legend even in my time. I wish the circumstances were less dire."

"I am still struggling with the idea that there's another Earth out there three hundred years beyond us in advancement."

"Perhaps you will have a chance to avoid some of our mistakes."

"Perhaps," she told him. In her experience, she had only a few seconds to position herself as someone to take seriously in spite of her sex. "I understand that the people who visited such destruction on us were a single faction within a larger entity. I'm afraid we have very little information on who the rest of the Klingon Empire are as a people. I would appreciate anything you can tell me."

He replied without missing a beat, "The Federation has been at war with the Klingon Empire off and on for a long time, but I would have thought this level of destruction was beyond even them. I've had my communications officer prepare a dossier for you. Are you ready to go?"

She hefted her small overnight bag. "Ready as I'll ever be.."

The captain took a small device out of his pocket, flipped open the gold cover one handed, and spoke into it as if it were a tiny microphone. "This is Captain Kirk.

Three to beam up."

*

Spock's questioning had taken two point four four hours and had included the use of a mind sifter for twenty minutes. He had not found it difficult to protect his psyche or his secrets during that time, but the artificial assault on his mind was distasteful to say the least, and it had tired him considerably. Two guards were assigned to return him to his cell, which they did, conversing loudly the entire time about the inconvenience of having to support him on his remaining leg and their disgust that he had been allowed to live with such a disfiguring and limiting injury. He concentrated on requiring as little of their support as he was able--and if he'd been able to retain his crutches he would have needed none--and controlling the headache building behind his eyes.

They opened the door and shoved him through, hard, so that there was no way he could remain upright. A shape darted forward. Arms wrapped around him and lowered him to the floor. 

"Doctor!" His rescuer said. Strange. Why was this Klingon housed with the prisoners from Earthtoo? The Klingon backed up to sit beside the door to their cell. Ah. Gesh. That might explain why he was a prisoner, but why had he been placed in a cell with people who would be traumatized by his presence enough that they would be likely to kill him with their bare hands?

Dr. McCoy reached him then to wave scanners over him and ply him with hyposprays. "I was unable to communicate with O'Reilly according to schedule," Spock informed him.

"No surprise there. Hold still. I see they used the mind sifter." The shudder in McCoy's voice was apparent, as was the wash of horror that passed over the physician. "Did they do anything else to you?"

"They know better than to use physical assault to gain information from a Vulcan." He pushed himself back against the wall to survey the situation and count persons. There were fifteen in the room, including himself and the Klingon. Two of those were small children. It looked like most had been sleeping when he arrived and were awakened by the commotion.

McCoy sat down beside him. "I'm glad to see you're all right. More or less."

The door clicked, then a moment later slid open. The two who had thrown him into the cell stomped into its center, kicking aside those who were in their way. "Which one is McCoy?" the taller asked. The shorter lifted a human lieutenant to his feet, examined him, and pushed him back to the floor. He noted McCoy, medscanner in hand, and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. In the moment before their physical contact was broken he sensed the flash of panic and despair from the doctor. 

"Leave him," Spock said, knowing his protest was likely to be futile.

The Klingons laughed. McCoy retained enough presence of mind to throw him the scanner and datapad before he was dragged away.

Hunnicutt took McCoy's place at Spock's side, more careful than the doctor to avoid physical contact. "Bones has a flair for the dramatic, but I saw the look on his face when they took him. He looked like he was going to his death."

"The mind sifter device holds a particular terror for the doctor. I will not compromise his privacy by discussing the topic further at this time."

"I won't ask you to." His gaze strayed across the room to where three women sat with the children. "Ridgway has a list of who everyone is, along with prisoners that didn't make it over here. Did they get anything out of you?"

"Nothing I did not want them to know. I intend to attempt meditation, in order that my mind is settled when Dr. McCoy returns. He is likely to require assistance."

BJ left him without protest. The emotional environment of their cell would challenge any attempt at meditation. Fear and grief filled the room like a palpable miasma. His centering breath sounded like a weary sigh even to his own ears. 

*

The door to Jim's quarters slid open. They still smelled faintly of Spock's incense. He dropped each of their army issue duffel bags on the bed, circled the room, and swallowed, hard. They were supposed to come home together. He pulled a fresh uniform out of his closet and changed, leaving the period piece neatly folded on his desk, and left. His quarters only reminded him of Spock's absence, the faint pulse of the bond in the back of his mind a permanent ache in the back of his throat.

M'Benga caught up with him on the way to the bridge. "Una uploaded your records. I'd like to get some fresh scans in Sickbay and put a treatment plan together."

Kirk resisted, stopping in the corridor. "I have too much to do to spend a day in Sickbay. I need to get up to the bridge and find out what we know about the Klingon ships that took hostages."

"Captain," M'Benga protested.

"The answer is no."

"Don't make me pull rank on you," M'Benga said gently.

"Just give me a couple of hours on the bridge to get caught up with the situation as it stands. I'll come down right after." 

"Two hours. Or I will come up to the bridge to retrieve you. Better yet, I'll send Margaret."

"I know, I know," he waved M'Benga away and quickened his steps so he could escape into the turbolift. He couldn't handle sitting around in sickbay without Bones there to yell at him.

He strode onto the bridge determined to act as though he'd only been gone for a shift. He looked around quickly. Chekov stood at the science station, Sulu and Riley were at the helm, and Uhura was presiding as usual over communications. He found himself speechless for a moment.

"Orders, captain?" Uhura said. Her voice remained steady as she spoke.

"Get me everything you have on those Klingon ships and House, what was it, Arok?"

She flashed him a brilliant smile before responding, the only concession to his long absence she would make on duty. "Aye, Captain."

"Do we have any word on whether Starfleet is sending reinforcements?"

"They're diverting a couple of ships, the Tereshkova and the Bonhomme Richard. They'll be here tomorrow. A diplomatic courier will be here in six days with Sarek and Ambassador April."

"Six days," he repeated. That meant they were running at close to the maximum safe speed. So much could happen in six days. "If we have a lead on the hostages I want us in pursuit as soon as our relief arrives. Chekov, do you and Lim have a draft plan for mitigating the dimming from stratospheric ash?"

"We have three or four promising leads," Chekov said. "We are modeling foil mirrors to temporarily increase insolation and chemical aggregators to cause the ash to clump and fall down faster."

"Keep me apprised of your progress."

"Of course, Captain," Chekov said brightly.

"Una informed me you have limited contact with Spock and Bones. I want details."

"Spock and O'Reilly are manipulating their mentorship link to send brief messages in Morse code," Uhura said.

"You're kidding me." A genuine laugh escaped him. "Why haven't I ever thought of that? Spock never ceases to surprise me."

Uhura corrected, "It was O'Reilly's idea. I'd guess it's a matter of not knowing enough to know what's impossible." The pride in her voice was unmistakable.

"And just how much have you been talking up the Academy to that kid?"

"Maybe some," she allowed. "He should be calling in from Ottumwa any time."

"Let me know as soon as you get word."

"I will, Captain."

He sat down to review the data on the Klingon ships, the best guesses as to where they were headed when they warped out of orbit, and the latest intelligence on Klingon politics. He hadn't remembered his command chair being so comfortable. He rested his chin on his hand just to see the screen better and stifled a yawn.

He wasn't sure how much later it was when a voice spoke in his ear. "Come on Captain, let's get you to Sickbay."

He allowed Major Houlihan to haul him to his feet, but he shook her off to navigate the steps to the turbolift on his own. She caught up with him as the door slid closed. "So. Falling asleep in your chair."

"If you tell M'Benga I fell asleep he'll keep me in Sickbay overnight," Jim said. "I'd appreciate your discretion, Major."

"It'll cost you, Kirk."

"Oh?"

"When we get Len back," she started, and when she saw his wince, she repeated, "When we get Len back safe and sound, you are going to give the two of us a week of leave. Someplace nice, with a beach and drinks that have little umbrellas in them."

"You are aware that you're not in Starfleet, right?"

"Tell it to Dr. M'Benga," she groused. "Between him and keeping the Joint Chiefs up to speed I might as well be."


	5. In which there is a chance meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is something of a held breath. Radar talks to his Ma, Uhura and Eleanor talk politics, something good happens to Klinger and something bad happens to Bones.

Radar sat on the bed in his childhood bedroom hugging a pillow to his chest. He'd been trying to get Spock's attention for forty-five minutes with no luck. The thread was intact and active, so the Commander was alive and awake, but he wasn't attending to the link and Radar couldn't tell if the message he was trying to get through was being received. He finished the brief message anyway and opened his eyes, dizzy with fatigue and hunger.

Hawkeye looked up from whatever he was reading. "Your ma has pie downstairs," he said.

"I couldn't get a good signal," Radar said, falling back on radio terminology for lack of anything better. "I'm going to take a nap and try again in an hour."

"Not until you eat something. You go to sleep with low blood sugar, you wake up with a headache."

Radar flopped back onto the bed. "It's so far."

"I'll go ahead of you. If you fall down the stairs you can fall on me. Come on, get up or I'll have to drag you down there."

"No way. You think too loud."

"I could sing instead!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Radar rolled off the bed and stumbled out of the room after Hawkeye, who really did go down the stairs three steps ahead of him, just in case.

Ma frowned at the two of them when they got to the kitchen. "You'd think they didn't feed you in Korea," she muttered. "I've got fresh bread and butter, strawberry rhubarb jam, zucchini pickles, and a bit of chicken hot dish left from last night."

"I was promised pie," Hawkeye complained, teasing.

"There will be sour cream raisin tonight--don't make that face until you've tried it, Hawkeye Pierce. For now I've got apple butter hand pies." Radar took one for each hand. They were still warm. "Careful son, that filling is hot."

Like he was a little kid or something. "I know, Ma."

Three hand pies, four thick slices of bread and most of the remaining casserole later, Radar pushed back his chair and rinsed his dishes in the sink. Hawkeye had gone off to check on Uncle Ed, leaving him alone with his Ma. "Walter," she said, "Why don't you come sit down in the front room for a bit. You come home and it's like you're still gone. I barely see you."

He didn't have the energy to protest, between teaching Hawkeye how to help with chores three times a day and spending one hour out of every four day and night imitating a telegraph. He dropped onto the couch. "I'm sorry Ma. There's just a lot to do, what with Ed being so sick, and other stuff. I might be here, but I ain't out of the Army."

"You weren't smiling when you came down the stairs, Walt."

"So?" What exactly was there to smile about?

"So, something happen to those boys you're keeping tabs on?"

"Don't know." He caught himself picking at his fingernails and made himself stop. "Every time I check in I'm afraid I'm gonna get bad news. And then I gotta be the one to tell everybody."

"That's in the job description, isn't it, radio man?" He shrugged, so she went on. "So, now that you've got your diploma, you planning to try to get into the Signal Corps again, or are you going to come back to us here on the farm?"

He stared at his knees. "I don't know, Ma. Maybe neither. Everything's going to be different from now on." General Smith had made him a very generous offer over the phone. His Ma and Ed wouldn't ever need to worry about money again. But General Smith was hard and scary and he used people--and if Radar stayed in the Army it was likely the next time Smith asked for him he wouldn't be given the option to say no thank you. Maybe even if he didn't stay in the Army. He yawned hugely.

"Go ahead and lie down on the couch. I'll wake you in time for dinner." He toppled sideways onto the pillow he'd dragged downstairs with him. Ma tucked an afghan around his shoulders. "I'm proud of you, son," she whispered into his ear. He fell asleep to the comforting sound of her puttering around the living room and kitchen in her house slippers, tidying up for the afternoon.

*

Eleanor sat patiently on an examination table in the Enterprise Sickbay while a black African physician used an array of unfamiliar instruments to assess her state of health. "There's nothing wrong with me," she insisted, though the exam itself was far less invasive than any she remembered having before. The whirring instruments were apparently able to gather information about the state of her body without her even needing to take off her clothes.

"Nothing wrong with you except atherosclerosis, latent tuberculosis, a bit of prediabetes and osteoporosis, several latent viruses of the herpes family..."

"Excuse me!" I protested.

"Chickenpox is in the herpes family, Mrs. Roosevelt, as is Epstein-Barr. What's most concerning is the TB, given that you died of it. I'd like to treat you now. It's only a few hyposprays. You'll be able to continue your tour afterward."

Given that she had died of it. "Is there not a certain risk in attempting to circumvent destiny?"

"I think we can safely say that destiny can take a long walk off a short pier as far as Earthtoo is concerned. Besides, I can't have you walking around the ship potentially shedding TB and cytomegalovirus and, well, everything else on this list."

"Go ahead, doctor, provided you do not mention anything else on that list of yours in my hearing."

The hyposprays burned a little against her neck, but that faded within seconds. Doctor M'Benga extracted a promise from her to return for further treatment the next day and placed her in the capable hands of a Lieutenant Uhura, a woman also of African ancestry, a coincidence that made her wonder if her commitment to human equality were being tested by these Starfleet people. The eminently qualified Dr. M'Benga and the elegant, clearly brilliant Lieutenant Uhura needn't have worried. 

Which was not to say she didn't plan to wring every bit of information she could out of the communications officer. She'd begged off more touring after a couple of hours; to be frank, the insides of the Enterprise were bewilderingly similar and she didn't know enough about the technology she was being shown do do more than nod as though she were impressed. It was all blinking lights and oddly shaped bits of plastic and metal to her. Besides, other people could get a handle on Federation technology. She wanted to know how they ran their society--and exactly what that might mean for her home.

Uhura had brought her to the recreation deck and showed her how to operate the drinks dispenser on the wall and the two of them were sitting beside a low table having possibly the most important casual conversation of Eleanor's life.

"You'll have to forgive my suspicion of a society that has grown beyond capitalism, in your words. It sounds frankly communist, and we've had singularly poor luck with that system of government lately."

Uhura tapped the top of her glass with a finger. "I can understand your hesitation. First, let me assure you that entrepreneurship is alive and well within the Federation. It's just rewarded a little differently. Basic needs are covered with a stipend, usually in the form of Federation credits. Choosing a career that is unpleasant or hazardous but necessary--Starfleet service included--earns a premium, as does remaining with any one career over time. But we have something of a two-tier system, in that people are also allowed to produce research, art, services and so forth, which are openly traded. I think the greatest difference between our system and those currently in place on Earthtoo is in corporate law. I can find you a good summary if you like."

"That would be helpful. But what about freedom of speech, religion, assembly, and so forth--the freedoms the communist regimes of our time strictly curtail?"

"We are deeply committed to personal freedom, to an extent your own people might find uncomfortable."

"I did take a look at the requirements for full Federation membership. I'm afraid it will take some time and effort to establish racial and gender equality, especially to the extent I see in your charter--not that it would be unwelcome by any means," she added.

"Your work in promoting human rights is well documented," Uhura said.

"I noted the similarities between the declaration of sapient rights in the Federation charter and the Declaration of Human Rights we put together in Geneva."

Uhura took another sip of her drink and acknowledged her with a nod. "The one is derived directly from the other, with some additional influence from the Vulcans. Would you be willing to settle a long standing historical mystery for me?" Uhura leaned in conspiratorially.

"And what might that be?"

"You and Lorena Hickok aren't just good friends, are you?"

"No. We were not." She set her glass down and stood, pressing her hands to her face for a moment to stem the tears she thought she had gotten under control that morning. "I am sorry, Lieutenant, I suspect you didn't know. Hick was in Hyde Park. She didn't make it out of New York." She and Hick hadn't been together since before Franklin died, but they kept up correspondence and had gotten past the differences that had distanced them a decade before.

The young woman reached out a hand to guide her back to her seat. "I'm so sorry. Our records didn't make that clear--I never would have asked if I'd known."

Eleanor patted the woman's hand. "It's all right, dear, we've all suffered losses. I owe it to her memory that a better, more just world for all of us comes out of our rebirth."

*

Klinger was in uniform. Green fatigues, from his boots up to his hat, with lacy bloomers, a camisole, and panties in an amazing fabric that breathed like cotton, felt like silk, and washed clean like canvas underneath. He carried a duffel full of sewing supplies that would have no one batting an eye surrounding an eye popping supply of drugs in fat little ampules, hemostatic gauze, regen gel, hyposprays, and a beautiful medscanner and datapad just for Charles Winchester.

He shook off the disorientation of suddenly finding himself outdoors and strode toward the rows of tents emblazoned with red crosses, not sure whether he had lost his mind or finally found it. The American and UN flags flew over a hastily erected frame tent with a hand lettered sign that said "Colonel's Office--Knock!" Dutifully, he knocked.

"This better be good!" Potter's voice shouted from within.

Klinger threw the door open wide. "I bring marvels from foreign lands, my Colonel!"

Potter looked up from a stack of paperwork, looking as weary as he'd ever seen him. "Did you have a nice vacation, Corporal?" he asked with a wry twist to his lips. 

"Indeed I did, Colonel. But feast your eyes on these babies." He pulled out the racks of ampules. "Isomorphine, which is what it sounds like, Lexorin for nervous conditions and head trauma, a cornucopia of antibiotics and antivirals, this stuff protects burns and reduces scarring--"

Potter waved a dismissive hand. "That's enough, Klinger, I'll look through the loot at my leisure. What brings you here? I'd have thought you'd be in Toledo by now."

"Colonel." Klinger's voice dropped, serious. "They never even came to Toledo. Say what you like about me, but you know I'm not the kind of man to leave you in the lurch during a real crisis. Phony wars aside."

Potter pushed back in his chair to give him a long, serious look. He slapped the desk with his hands and stood, holding out his hand for Klinger to shake. "Well I'm glad to have you."

Klinger accepted the handshake deliberately. "And on the bright side there won't be anyone shooting at us. Now, could you kindly direct me to Major Winchester? I have a gift for him."

"Look for the sign that says Orphanage and School. It's down at the end." Klinger made for the door. "Wait," Potter said. "Take some of that burn gel with you for the kids."

He raised his hand to salute with his usual jaunty irony, but let it fall to his side. "Regen gel. For the orphans. I got you covered. Oh, and one other thing." He set a small rectangular metal device on Potter's desk. "It's set up to call Enterprise's sickbay directly. Just flip it open and talk. Ask for Nurse Chapel or Dr. M'Benga. They'll send down whatever you need."

He plucked out a few bottles of regen gel and stuffed them back in his bag. "I'll just float until you find a job for me."

"Thank you, Corporal," Potter said, distracted by the stack of forms on his makeshift desk. 

Klinger slipped out of the office, leaving Potter to his work. Refugees clustered in small groups around the tents, most idle or staring with shocked, broken expressions, a few moving more purposefully among their fellows, speaking, touching, sometimes writing things down on scraps of paper. He located the children's tent by the noise. Charles was outside, surrounded by a gaggle of boys and girls playing something with a ball that appeared to have no consistent rules. He ducked into the tent. Kellye was reading a fairy tale to a group of smaller children. Her face lit up when she saw him and she waved, then returned to her animated retelling. 

Klinger picked his way through the children to the back half of the tent, where small cots had been laid out for children to rest on. These children, in contrast to the ones playing and listening to stories, were swathed in bandages or sitting on their cots with blank faces. A couple of aid workers circulated among them, trying to elicit a smile, a word, an attempt to eat or drink. 

He knelt beside a young woman with beautiful hair the color of the night sky with no moon and warm, tender brown eyes. She was changing a little girl's bandages, talking soothingly to her in Korean. Belatedly, he saw the Korean flag patch on her white uniform. "Oi," he said. "Do you speak English?"

"Some." She didn't take her eyes off the child.

"I have medicine for burns. I can help put it on." He mimed spreading cream on his arm.

She nodded and smiled brightly. He pulled a bottle of regen gel out of his bag and broke the seal, then handed it to her. "Wash hands." she reminded him, pointing to a sink in the corner.

He returned with clean hands to her brilliant smile. She dabbed the gel onto the little one's burned face and arms. It must have been soothing in some way because the girl held quite still, relaxing more and more as her skin was covered. "Smells pretty," the aid worker noted.

Klinger sniffed. "Smells like peonies," he agreed. "I'm Max." he said, pointing to himself.

She nodded understanding. "Soon Lee."

"Pleased to meet you, Soon Lee."

*

Leonard couldn't keep himself from dragging his feet. His arms were held securely by the guards on either side of him, who had responded to his digging in and fighting forward motion simply by lifting him up and carrying him between them so that he dangled in midair in an undignified fashion. There were things he ought to be doing, to prepare and protect himself, but his breathing was coming in fast, wheezing gasps, he was sweating and cold and clenching his fists so hard the tendons of his forearms ached. He had no room for anything but terror.

They shoved him into the chair, tightened the straps, and turned on the device. It hummed innocuously for a moment until a technician turned a dial on the side and Leonard started to feel a heavy, cold pressure not unlike going under anesthesia. The questions started coming, and he could do nothing but answer. They turned up the power, God only knew why, he was cooperating, he thought, he just couldn't remember the answers to their questions under all this pressure. The pressure grew sharper, like needles of ice digging into his brain. He could hear himself screaming.

Time ceased to flow in a predictable way. He knew he was talking. He knew they were asking him questions, and that he was remembering in intense detail, then forgetting almost instantly. Beyond that, he perceived only racing shocks, flashes of lurid color, the scent of blood. After a dozen eternities, rough hands undid the straps and hauled him to his feet. He collapsed, unable even to turn his body to cushion the fall.

Hands gripped him under his arms. His skin reacted with pins and needles wherever anything touched it. They dragged him down the hallway, his heels bumping over every seam in the floor. His head lolled and migraine starbursts flashed behind his eyes every time they jostled him. There was a loud pain, swooping movement, and a jolt as arms wrapped around him, stopping him from hitting the floor. 

Whoever held him passed him on to other hands. Every sound, smell, and touch was unbearable, even the arms wrapping around him, four of them, hot against his chilled skin. He thought he might be in shock but immediately forgot what that meant. His head rested against a chest without a heartbeat. That meant something. He could feel a rapid flutter where his forearm was pressed to someone's side. Spock's side. His hand was picked up and moved so the palm rested against that flutter.

Another, warmer palm rested high on his back. He needed to find his balance. He could feel himself trying to find the metronome rhythm that would put him back together, but he couldn't tap or bounce or rock it back into place. The arms held him tightly. His head fit into the hollow of a throat, held there firmly by a cool hand. Words were being spoken, but he could neither make sense of them nor remember how to speak. The tick of the metronome rhythm built inside him, quieting and ordering. He was being rocked, seventy-two cycles per minute, the repetitive motion finally letting him catch his breath. His mind still jittered and skipped, but he could hold to the rhythm and the feel of air moving into and out of his lungs. "Can you understand me, Leonard?" Spock's baritone finally resolved into words.

He couldn't yet speak, but he could nod. 

"You are injured."

Of course he was injured. His brain was probably permanently fried. He'd read about mind sifter injuries, but he couldn't recall what he'd read. The hand holding his head shifted slightly, the fingers settling into familiar positions. Leonard startled, his oversensitized nervous system making his entire body jerk. "May I assist?" Spock said.

He ducked his chin again. The fact that he could control any part of his body was a relief. A question caught his attention and he pictured the response, heard his thought turned to words for him. "Dr. Hunnicutt, administer Dr. McCoy five hundred milligrams of Lexorin, if any remains, along with fifteen hundred milligrams of paramaxin. I can do very little without injuring him further until the drugs take effect."

That little, a wisp of support and comfort, was a scaffold Leonard could cling to. "We will determine what else needs to be done when you wake." 

BJ hit him twice with the hypospray. The neuroprotective agent and muscle relaxant eased him toward unconsciousness, but the soft voice and rocking continued as long as he remained aware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are rolling right into the final five chapters here.
> 
> So, this is your opportunity to influence the "More Endings Than Lord Of the Rings"
> 
> Is there someone or something in particular you hope to see? Someone you've missed seeing or a situation you're hoping is resolved? Let me know and I'll either add it to the last episode, spoil it in the comments, or tell you I have Something Planned for the sequel.

**Author's Note:**

> This author delights in responding to comments.


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